Beg
by purefoysgirl
Summary: This is a sequal to Cold As Stone. Draco tries out his newfound powers on his least favorite mudblood. Rated for coming chapters. Rape and violence so be warned, I don't write for children.
1. Chapter 1

'_All I have to do is ask…_' Draco thought, watching the countryside pass by the window as the Hogwarts Express traveled towards its destination. He smirked a little, forehead leaning on the window.

"Are you alright, Draco? You've been so quiet," Pansy commented, trying to get his attention. _Always_ trying to get his attention.

"I'm fine," he said, lifting his head to look at her with narrowed eyes. She was a pretty girl, tending towards vapid and now rather sulky where he was concerned. Still, considering what he'd found out at home, Pansy Parkinson was old news.

Over the summer, Draco had discovered that not only was his mother a succubus, thanks to the strains of magic in his father's line, Draco himself was well on his way to becoming an incubus.

'_Your power will grow with sex, Draco, darling, and so will the hunger that fuels it_,' Narcissa had told him at the climax of one of the most disturbing days of his life thus far.

Pansy flushed a little, her eyes flicking to Crabbe and Goyle, who were talking utter nonsense to one another about some foolish comic they'd taken from one of the little ones.

"Do you like Crabbe, Pansy?" Draco meanly asked, his smile twisted with malicious cruelty. "Why don't you give him a kiss?"

Pansy blanched, a look of utter disgust on her face. She lowly said, "I don't like Crabbe, Draco, you know that."

"Go on!" he shortly said, amused now with it, wanting to see how far his power had grown.

Crabbe looked nervous in a bovine, unsure way, his piggish eyes flicking from Pansy to Draco and back again, uncertain of what to do.

"Pansy," Draco said, carefully enunciating each word when he said, "_I told you to kiss Crabbe_."

Trembling and white with dislike, Pansy slid hesitantly down the seat and brushed a kiss across Crabbe's thin mouth, turning away immediately and lifting her hand to her lips.

Draco smiled and looked back out the window, ignoring them.

He had bigger game in mind than Pansy, who had always fawned on him.

No, a true test of his power would be over one who had no reason to do as he bid her—and despite the dire warning his father had issued, Draco would have what he wanted and the rest be damned.

And he would have that filthy mudblood where she belonged—sniveling at his feet and cringing like a dog, finally in her rightful place.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Yes, I take liberties with timelines; no, I don't follow the sequence of events. It's okay, this is all in my head, you're just invited to the screening, so enjoy and don't get upset if I take some artistic license with these characters I cannot claim.**

His first true opportunity to snare her came sooner than he had hoped. She was, as usual, a frazzled and arrogant mess and somehow managed to brush robes with him in Potions.

Knowing Snape was about as likely to reprimand him as he was to drink snake venom, Draco rounded on the book-laden witch and snarled, "Don't you dare touch me, you wretched little mudblood."

"_Mis_ter Malfoy," Snape said, his voice mild and bored as ever, seemingly unaware of the tense pair staring one another down—Draco's grey eyes mocking, Hermione's furious and hurt. "Pray do not use that word in my class. Miss Granger, if you wouldn't mind?"

"Not at all," she stiffly said, continuing to her seat just across the aisle from him and plopping her books down. In a hissing whisper, she tried to get in the last word with, "You're a horrid excuse for a human being, Draco Malfoy!"

"And you're a horrid excuse for a witch," he shot back, smirking when Crabbe and Goyle both laughed, delighted with the insult. "But, ah, don't take it too hard, Granger——I'm sure there's plenty of things for you to do in the muggle world…modeling, maybe?"

He, Crabbe, and Goyle all three sniggered, vastly amused by this idea.

"Sod off, Malfoy," Ron said, with his usual hangdog expression. Of the two of them, Granger had bigger balls, and Draco didn't even deign to respond, merely gave Hermione his usual smug, self-assured smile.

Granger glared at him, looking to the front only after Snape called them both down again, a hint of warning in his voice.

Halfway through class, when he was sure she was deeply involved in Snape's instructions, Draco murmured lowly, "Look at me, Granger."

Hermione glanced over at him, asking, "Did you say something, Malfoy?"

He shook his head, sneering, and asked, "Why would I say anything to _you_, Granger?"

Hermione frowned, returning to her equipment.

Again, making his sure his voice was barely audible, Draco crooned under his breath, "_Look at me, Granger, and _smile."

"Malfoy, are you quite alright?" Hermione asked, a faint smile curving the edges of her lips. "Because if this is a joke, it really isn't funny."

"I don't know what you're talking about, you mad mudblood."

"_Is there a problem, Miss Granger_?" Snape loudly asked.

"No, sir," Hermione quickly said, looking back down at her instructions with some confusion.

"Meet me in the great hall after hours," Draco murmured, and not even Goyle—who was sitting right next to him—could hear. Unfortunately, all of the other girls in the room shifted in their seats as if pricked with a pin and glanced around the room, looking for the source of that odd suggestion, their male counterparts completely oblivious.

Cursing a little, Draco amended his request to Hermione alone, changing the location to the library annex. He hadn't known he could do that, though it might come in handy at some point—and on the heels of that he thought of what a bloody pain it would be in the future if he couldn't learn to control it.

Again, she glanced at him sidelong, her expression one of confusion and outright mutiny.

Draco scowled at her, narrowing his eyes with malice.

Thinking that she must be losing her mind, Hermione pulled out a sheet of foolscap and furiously wrote on it before crumpling it into a ball and tossing it at him. It served as both messenger and weapon, taking out some measure of her irritation by striking him true in the cheek.

"Stupid hag," he hissed, unfolding it under his desk, eyes warily scanning the room. He glanced down to see that she had written, '_I would rather give birth to an ogre than go anywhere with you, Malfoy. And I suggest not using whatever spell you've cast to throw your voice that way——you know very well that such things aren't allowed._'

"Bloody idiot female," Draco hissed, crumpling the paper back up and feeding it to the flame of his burner. He glared over at Hermione until she chanced to look at him, a faint smirk of superiority on her smudged face.

"I'm going to hurt you," he mouthed, his smile of anticipation so utterly cruel that she drew back a little against Weasely. He bared his teeth at her as his smile widened to a grin, and mouthed, "You're going to _beg_."

She shook her head a little, more than a little frightened of him and wise enough not to hide it. She shot a worried glance at Snape, but Draco lowly said, "Don't you _dare_ tell anyone, Granger. _Not. One. Word_."

When Snape dismissed them she quickly gathered her books and bolted from the room, Draco lazily following suite, pleased with the encounter.


	3. Chapter 3

Of course, Draco didn't bother to see if Hermione came to the library annex at his request—he was pretty certain that she'd regained some measure of equilibrium there towards the end of Potions and would manage to resist him. That damned stubborn nature of hers would be a thorn in his side, he knew—but he didn't want an easy conquest. If it was just that he merely needed to slap a smile on his face and ask nicely. Easy was no fun, but _difficult_…well, difficult had its own rewards. And he did detest that smug little bitch of a witch so very, very much.

As days passed at school he was very careful not to be any more demanding than usual, paranoid that one of the teachers would ascertain his burgeoning incubus powers and send him packing home, or else bind him with charms so that he couldn't have what measure of fun he was having.

Granger was his special treat. He always sat on the side of the Slytherin dining table closest to Gryffindor's so that he could both bait Harry Potter and subtly work on Hermione. Each and every time she responded to his voice was a small victory, made even sweeter by the enraged and rather perplexed look on her face when she complied with his little, seemingly harmless requests. It was amusing for Draco to see the utter bewilderment on Harry Potter's face and echoed in the Weasel's when Hermione dutifully tossed him a roll from their table or swapped him cups or picked up his dropped napkin…albeit with ill-grace and no little scowling.

Such games only amused him for so long, and then he set out to do what he'd sworn to do since he'd first begun to truly detest her—destroy her utterly. And what could upset the careful balance of the little mudblood's life more than to be used and discarded by the one person she hated?

So one night at dinner, Draco hissed her name, half-turned on his bench.

"_What_?" Hermione snapped, turning around, her brown eyes blazing, her face already set with sulky sullenness. There was wariness there, too—she had not forgotten that awful smile or those words he'd mouthed, and was nervous that he might actually harm her.

And he would. Oh, _he would_.

"Come to the library tonight after hours," he whispered, shifting his eyes to glare at the scowling Weasel until the other boy flushed red as his hair and returned to his meal.

"Malfoy, you're completely mad if you think I'm meeting you anywhere," Granger said, her voice unsteady and a slight smile of disbelief on her face, as if she couldn't quite fathom his audacity.

She made as if to turn around, but Draco said, "I'm not _asking_ you, Granger."

"I'm _not_ going," she stubbornly said, not able to look into his eyes. She'd begun doing that but recently, as if sensing some power there that frightened her. She looked up at Harry and Ron, who both stared at her as if she'd grown another head. With a breathless, nervous laugh, she repeated, "I'm _not_ going, ok?"

Draco returned to his food with a smirk.

She would come, he'd read as much in her tense words, in the subtle shaking of her thin body.

Somewhat elated by his victory, Draco even generously gave Pansy a smile that brought a flush to her pale cheeks and the return of her sycophantic adoration.

Draco took her praise as his due, busily thinking of what he was going to do to Granger tonight in the library—in the sanctuary to which she fled when she needed a safe haven from life.

He would take that, too. He would take everything that made Hermione Granger who she was—her precious moral superiority, her snobbish faith in her own powers, her little corner of Nirvana.

He would take it _all_.

And he would smile when she wept, undone at last.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco was thrilled when he heard the furtive movements of someone in the darkness. He hadn't doubted that she would come, but this proof of his power was heady stuff, and he relished what he could do with it.

Navigating by the dim glow at the tip of her wand, Hermione Granger emerged from the darkness, her arms piled high with books. She paused momentarily when she saw Draco, a frown turning down the corners of her mouth. She plopped the books down on the table with a slight huff of effort, and stood facing him with arms crossed, her wand in the crook of her arm.

Draco stayed where he was seated, kicked back in the chair with his feet up on the table in blatant disrespect. He could see if fairly eating at her, this negligent pose of his that reduced her precious haven to a footstool.

"I'm not here because you asked me," she said, her jaw set with determination. She trembled a little, unnerved and angry.

"I can see that," Draco said, laughing shortly. "Returning some books after hours, are you? And I didn't _ask_, Granger—I _demanded_."

Her chin went up, stubborn to the end. But he had to admire her spunk, she didn't turn into a blubbering puddle like Weaselby, or cast about in a frantic search for help such as Potty did. No, no, for all her humble origins, Hermione Granger stood on her own two feet and faced the devil to give him his due.

"You're a smart little bitch, Granger," Draco said, rather surprised to hear his voice sound so calm. He dropped his feet from the table and stood, able to see her quite well from the light of their wands and the moonlight through the high windows. He braced his arms on the table and looked at her, trying to snare her with his gaze, knowing it was possible—hadn't his own mother done such? "What do _you_ think is going on here?"

"I know exactly what is going on here," she said, her voice shaking but still full of that self-righteous, priggish confidence. "I may not be of pure blood, Malfoy, but I've learned plenty about the wizarding Houses. I know the Black and Malfoy families both have eruptions of power from time to time, it took very little effort to figure out what's happened to you."

"Do go on, Granger," Draco said, wanting to hear it from her own lips.

"Well…well, you're an incubus, aren't you?" she said, fairly tripping over the words in an effort to expel them. "It's the only reason I can see that I would be unable to refuse you, that I can't go against what you say."

Draco gave her a cruel smile, but said nothing.

Taking a step back, Hermione added, "I've spent weeks trying to find out if there's some way to break a Siren Call…"

"Did you find one?" he asked, his voice dangerously silky.

Hermione shook her head and almost added something, but subsided once more.

"Come here," he said.

She took a reluctant step forward.

"Please don't do this, Draco," she whispered, using his given name in an effort to appeal to his sense of honor. "Please believe me, you _don't_ want me to be the first one you use your powers on. Not for _real_."

"But _I_ want it, Granger," Draco said, reaching out to grab the front of her robes and drag her closer. "So it doesn't really matter what you or anyone else wants, because what I want is what I get."

"Be sure it's what you want," Hermione said, her voice quavering but her composure never slipping.

Draco smirked, pausing with her there in his grasp, pleased that she looked vulnerable but not beaten. Not yet. He hoped she held out for some time, it would make her capitulation that much richer for him.

"You and I, we _hate_ one another, don't we?" he asked, his eyes alight with cruelty.

"Yes," Hermione answered, shaking but not resisting.

"One kiss," he murmured, and smiled to think of its devastating effects. "One kiss and you'll do anything. One kiss and you'll kneel at my feet and lick my boots. One kiss and I will hurt you so badly you'll wish you were dead. One kiss, Granger. One kiss, and you'll ask me for _more_. You'll _beg_."

"No," she whimpered, turning her head to one side and stiffening, trying to draw back. "I won't. I won't beg…"

He had the advantage of being larger than she, much taller, stronger, with a longer reach. He forced her head around until her lips were under his and paused, breathing, "Take one last breath as a girl with free will."

He felt her inhale, and pressed his mouth down on hers.

Power unfurled inside him like a great, warm wave, seeking and searching. Granger bit down on his lip, bit again at his tongue, but the power touched her and she lapped at the blood with soft little mews. She clutched the front of his robes, her wand falling gently to the floor, her small hands surprisingly strong and holding him to her. He felt a spark of honest desire and realized that it was feeding back to him—it was Granger's growing desire he was feeling, not his own, and the more she began to enjoy the kiss, the more the power rose.

He ran his tongue along her lower lip one last time, and then bit down hard enough that salty blood spilled over his teeth.

Granger gasped a little, and the need notched a little higher.

"Well, well," he said, drawing back to look down at her. Glassy-eyed and flushed, she was almost pretty, showing the first traces of the woman she would become. "Didn't have you pegged for that sort of thing, Granger. What else are you hiding beneath that priggish exterior?"

She blinked rapidly, swaying in his grasp, and shook her head a little.

Draco cocked his head, a grin of pure relish widening his mouth when he asked, "Are you a _virgin_, Granger?"

"Yes," she said, brows drawn in her usual look of consternation.

Draco laughed, shocked.

"I can't believe it! You mean neither Potty nor Weasel had the balls to get you into bed?" he crowed, delighted. "Oh, this is _too_ much!"

"Of course they didn't," Hermione said, offended. "They are _gentlemen_, something which cannot be said of _you_, Malfoy!"

"_Gentlemen_," he mocked, still laughing. "Granger, you wouldn't know a gentleman if one slapped you in the face and, believe me, tonight one will."

Hermione looked at him with large brown eyes that still held traces of desire and lowly said, "I _hate_ you."

"Good," Draco shortly said. "Likewise! _This_ will be a memory to cherish, Granger! Your first time and it's with a man who despises you. There won't ever be a man after who can erase _that_, you filthy mudblood! Everytime you spread your legs you'll think of me."

Again her chin lifted, but she was too much an unwilling slave to his power to negate him. Much as she might wish to escape, should the opportunity even present itself, she could not do so—she would willingly submit to whatever Draco had in store for her, hating it silently to herself.

"Let this serve to remind you, mudblood," Draco said, stripping her of her robes down to her white top and pleated skirt. "That you're only worth what use your betters get from you."

He kissed her again, his power coming more easily, floating about them both in invisible but tangible waves. He kissed her roughly, intending to hurt, but for the incubus-struck even pain is pleasure, and no matter how he savaged her mouth with his teeth, he felt her lust growing and feeding his power.

"Do you hate me, Granger?" he asked a bit breathlessly, lapping her blood from his lips.

"Yes," she said, her mouth bloody and swollen, her eyes shimmering with tears of loathing and fierce _need_.

"Do you want me to touch you?" Draco asked, enjoying the game more by the second, pleased when she wailed in frustration, longing to break away from him and be free.

Her face twisted with fury, but she snarled, "_Yes_!"

"I'm going to hurt you, Granger," he whispered, his midnight dreams coming true—the hated mudblood in his power, helpless and afraid. His own pleasure was rising now, fed by the exciting idea of violence and the keen, piercing joy he found in her humiliation. He tore her blouse open, raking the mannish tie from her throat, busting the delicate clasp at the front of her bra. The sight of her vulnerable flesh forced a hiss of lust from his teeth, and he said again with more conviction and all the urgency of a lover promising pleasures untold, "_I'm going to hurt you so very badly_."

And instead of tamping down her lust, he could taste it riding higher. Her pulse jumped in her throat and her lips parted on a sigh. Draco might want to cause her pain, but Hermione seemed more than a little excited by the idea of it.

He looked down at her flawless skin, her straight shoulders and the column of her pale throat. Her breasts were small but high and firm, with the promise of more to come. Her waist was small, her hips rounding out beneath her pleated skirt. She had a coltish, unfinished look about her, but the sight of her unmarked skin and pert, virgin nipples very nearly laid waste to all his plans. Still, he was after more than a quick, albeit vicious fuck on the table. He wanted her broken utterly, so broken that she would never be the same.

"Not even filled out yet," he meanly said, reaching up to squeeze one of her breasts, fingers digging into her flesh so that she sobbed and arched her back, reaching up to grip his wrist. But she didn't push, didn't claw, only pressed his hand harder to her. Draco smirked, adding, "Not even proper fucked and already acting like a slut. Does it hurt?"

"Yes!" she gasped, eyes wide, heart thrumming.

"Do you want me to stop?" Draco asked, his voice silky, his smile knowing.

"No!" she cried, breathing raggedly.

"Maybe I should," he murmured, stepping close enough that her body pressed to his, his hand sliding to cup her tenderly, smoothing over the half-moon, bloody welts of his nails. He nuzzled her cheek and sighed, "Maybe I should stop, send you back to your little bed, all virginal and self-righteous…"

"No," Hermione whimpered, clearly struggling with herself.

"What was that?" Draco asked, sliding his thumb over her nipple, head bent so that he was still breathing softly against her ear, though he grinned with pure glee. "What do you want?"

"Don't…" she cried, her voice shaking. She was shuddering in his embrace, so torn was she now—her rational mind wanting escape, her incubus-ridden libido demanding surcease. "Don't send me away, Draco!"

"Then, _I_ suggest this," he whispered, biting her lobe so that she moaned.

"_Beg_."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thanks to all my reviewers! I rarely post my stories on this site because people so rarely take the time to review, so I thank you all for showing such interest in my writing. And, in a shameless act of self-promotion, if you like truly decadent men, by all means please feel free to check out my Ghost Ship stories on AFF (link is in my bio). Thanks again!**

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'_Beg_,' he'd told her, and Hermione struggled to hold onto her weakening sense of self, he could see it etched there in her tear-streaked face. She wouldn't, not yet—but before it was over he'd subject her to what depravities he could manage in this shadowy library and she would _beg_ him to do it again. 

He waited for her to calm a little, enjoying that he could knock her so off balance with so little effort—a kiss to snare her, a little pain to put an edge on her pleasure, and then allow it to diffuse so that she remembered just what was happening to her and who was doing it.

Her brown eyes sparkled with tears and thoughts as she looked up at him, shaking like a leaf in his grasp. She shivered when he kept running his thumb over and over her taut little nipple, alternately flushing and growing alarmingly pale with disgust.

"Stop it!" she finally managed to say, forcing the words from between teeth that no longer wanted to obey her. "I don't want this."

"That's rather the point, Granger," he laughed, shoving her away so that she stumbled against the table, clutching her shirt together feebly, face lowered in shame. "This wouldn't be any fun at all if you _wanted _it. After all, I could have any girl I want—what on _earth_ would I need _you_ for if not for this?"

"What _do_ you want, Malfoy?" Hermione asked.

"Leave your shirt alone, I didn't tell you to cover yourself," he snapped, and she dropped her hand stiffly to her side, her expression dark with fury.

"What do you _want_, Malfoy?" she repeated, trying her best to remain poised while her blouse gaped open, tiny rivulets of blood tracking their way down the slope of her breast to her flat belly.

"Oh, not much, Granger," he murmured, cocking his head to give her his most winning smile. "Only you huddled at my feet like a whipped dog, sobbing, broken, utterly destroyed."

She blanched, and he could see her trying to fight it down, the hold he had on her.

"What have I ever done to you?" she asked, her voice quavering with fear, under which ran a thread of resigned bewilderment—he would have of her what he wanted, and there was nothing she could do to stop him. "Is _this_ how you win, Malfoy? It _this_ how you finally prove you're better than me?"

"I've never _needed_ to prove it, mudblood!" Draco spat, furious. "I've _always_ been better than you! You've just been too damned arrogant by half to stay where you belong!"

"Where?" Hermione asked, smiling wryly. "In the muggle world?"

Draco gave her a tight, joyless smile that had so much of his father in it that Hermione drew back again.

"Failing that, at least admitting that your only rightful place _here_ is bowing to your betters," he whispered, advancing on her again, his pale and slender hands negligently discarding his robes.

Hermione's eyes widened with dawning horror when he unclasped his belt and pulled it free of its loops, his smile deepening to something that was both predatory and awful in its darkness.

"Don't!" she whispered, and managed to get to the edge of the table before he snagged her by the arm. The touch only intensified his hold on her, and her willpower ebbed like a wave drawing back, replaced by the euphoric anticipation she'd already tasted.

"What do you think, Granger? Should I beat you with the buckle end?" he asked, almost teasingly, firmly back in control as he swung her around to face him. He looped the belt double in his hand and held it up for her to fully comprehend. "I saw father beat the holy hell out of mother with his belt once—it gave me the screaming horrors for days. What do you think, Granger? Want a case of the screaming horrors? Shall I whip you bloody?"

She stayed perfectly silent and perfectly horrified in his grasp, her pulse ticking like mad in her throat, her pupils contracted to pinpricks despite the darkness. Sweat popped out along her brow and when he gave her a shake she made a low, keening noise like an animal in pain.

"Touched a nerve, have I?" Draco asked, smirking. He liked her fear, liked that he could taste it rolling off of her with every beat of her galloping heart—liked that even this idea of unstoppable punishment made her need surge. The more frightening it sounded, the more she responded, and the more she responded, the more horrified she was by her own reactions. "Don't worry, Granger—it isn't as if I'm going to ruin your good looks or anything. You haven't got any."

He flung her away and sent her spinning against the table, her shirt falling back into place to cover her. Cursing softly to himself, Draco gripped the stupid thing hard at the collar and tore it in half down her back, letting the material pool around her braced hands.

"Put your head down," he said, and shoved her forehead into the table with an audible 'thump' when she didn't comply to his satisfaction. He shoved her hips forwards against the edge of the table so that she lay fully on top of it, braced from head to hips by the wood. There would be no room to wriggle here, no place to bow her back and lessen the force—she would get every lick of the belt dead on, and she would _thank_ him for it.

"Remember, Granger, I wouldn't be doing this if you'd remembered your place," he told her, running his free hand down the length of her back, goosebumps rising in its wake. "A pity, really, that your skin is so fine—you'll most likely scar."

"I hate you!" Hermione snarled, her voice muffled by the table and the spill of her curly hair.

"I don't care," Draco said, smiling a little. "I'm still the one with the belt here, aren't I? Watch your mouth, you filthy mudblood, and maybe I'll go easy on you."

He drew back from her, pleased to see her body singing with tension, fearful of that first blow. Sometimes anticipation was the worst part of pain, and he waited until the tremors returned, letting her think of the belt and the silver buckle. Chuckling a little in the darkness, he turned it so that he held it by the buckle, and snapped the leather once loudly, making her jump.

"Scream all you want to, Granger—no one will hear," he told her. Rearing back and putting the full force of his strong young arm behind it, he brought the belt down onto her back.


	6. Chapter 6

She screamed, of course she screamed—he had no mind for mercy with her, and delighted in her panicked cries, whipping her back until his arm was tired and her milky, soft skin was crossed with angry red lines, some of them weeping blood. And still her need fed his power, lifting it in lapping waves, heady stuff for one who was only just learning to wield such things. Her desire and pain were so thick that it was palpable—one entwined within the other like the pieces of a puzzle.

Enticed by it, Draco leaned over her hoarsely sobbing body and ran his tongue along the welts on her slender back, feeding on her pleasure which was so strong he could taste it with every lap of his tongue. Hatred, he tasted that as well, and self-loathing that she could feel such things in such ways and at his hands. And underneath all that he tasted the salt of her skin and the coppery hint of her blood.

"Please stop this!" she choked, lifting her head up from the table, her fingers digging into the wood and her arms tense.

"You don't _really_ want that," he said, distracted by the taste of her and the odd sensation of literally swallowing magic from her heated skin. "Every time your nerves tingle, it feeds my power. Every thrilled sensation that grips you rises to me—you can lie to yourself if you want to, Granger, but _I_ know better."

She hitched with sobs, ashamed that she could not shield it from him, that her most depraved and secret longings were at his fingertips, were known to him—her worst enemy and the only person who had ever hated her.

"Sh, don't cry," Draco crooned, sliding his hands lightly up her back, barely skimming the raw welts so that she shuddered. In that same gentle tone he added, "I haven't given you a reason to cry _yet_."  
He twined the fingers of one hand into her tousled hair, wrapping it around his fist, and pulled her up off of the table, his free hand sliding around her bare belly to hold her tightly to him. In a hissing whisper he asked, "What would be the most embarrassing thing I could do to you, I wonder? What will give you nightmares for weeks, Granger?"

She took a hissing, quavering breath, taut in his tight embrace.

"Hmmm…_I_ know," he said, tracing tickling circles on her belly. "I have just the thing."

He spun her to face him, staring down at her with a slight, cruel smile curving his fine lips.

"Wh…what?" Hermione asked, well and truly caught.

Draco lifted her onto the table before she could even squeak a protest and shoved her knees wide open, tumbling her onto her back.

"Please don't!" she cried, suddenly struggling, her hand holding down the hem of her skirt as it tried to ride up over her hips. "Oh, god, _don't do this_!"

"That's it, Granger—be afraid," he said, squeezing her wrist until her fingers popped open and he could shove her hand away. He reached under her skirt to pull her underwear down, eyes widening in the first surprise he'd gotten all night. "Well, well, Granger. Nice to see that you take care of yourself—makes my job a bit easier."

She wriggled back from him but he sharply jerked her forwards again, flipping her skirt up onto her belly while she flushed dark pink with shame, spread out on the table with nothing to hide her from his assessing eyes. She wore no underwear and was clean shaven, so even the slight protection of _that_ was denied her.

Draco stared down at her with the self-assured, satisfied smirk she'd seen so often over the years. He enjoyed her shame, her crying. Little by little she was breaking, and before he was finished with her she would shatter like fragile glass.

Moving with nonchalant, arrogant grace, he drew one of the chairs up between her legs and sat down, taking his time, enjoying the barely controlled panic that assailed her. She was near to hyperventilating, wracked by spastic shivers as her muscles clenched in abortive efforts to get her away, remove her from danger.

He slid his fingertips over the inside of her thigh and she came up off of the table with a short scream of fear.

"Whoa, easy," he said, sniggering when she subsided, her little hands clenched into fists. He touched her again but she didn't move this time, only tried to close her knees a little.

He bent towards her and she sat up, frantically crying, "_Please don't do this_!"

"Lie back down!" Draco spat, and slapped her hard across the face, pleased when she dropped back down, weeping, cradling her cheek in her hand. It was a towering humiliation for her, he knew, being so exposed to the one she loathed. And when he bent his fair head to her she convulsed in mingled horror and anticipation.

"Please don't," she brokenly whispered one last time, feeling his breath hot on her skin, feeling his tongue snake out. There was no horror greater in her mind than this—to be driven to climax by the same lips and tongue that had formed so many hateful, hurtful words said to her. "_Please_ don't!"

But he did.

Oh, he did.

* * *

**Thanks again to my reviewers. I'm sorry, I know I'm harsh with Hermione (I like her, too, the adorable little thing) but this is supposed to be more from the vantage point of Draco, so things are going to get a little upsetting. And I would say "sorry," but I totally wouldn't mean it. Read at your own risk, and I hope this lives up to the interest of my readers!**


	7. Chapter 7

He ate her like his favorite dish, teeth and tongue working in tandem with a skill that grew even more as his power rose. Her pleasure was making him dizzy, saturating him so that it was becoming hard to distinguish where her nerves ended and his began. He hadn't truly known what it meant to be a creature who feeds on pleasure, was only now beginning to understand what his mother had meant when she'd said, '_Your power will grow with sex, Draco, darling, and so will the hunger that fuels it_.' Because now, now that she was beginning to unravel in his hands, he could feel his hunger for her pleasure growing and knew that this was something that he would never be free of. A hunger that feeds on itself and leaves a larger hunger in its wake—an endless circle within him.

"I hate you, Draco Malfoy!" Hermione wept, undone. "I _truly_ hate you!"

Her loathing peaked with her body, and when she felt her first orgasm at his hands the force of it broke his magic free like a river bursting forth from a dam.

And it consumed him.

He didn't care that her strong little fingers were curled tightly in his hair, didn't care that the smooth, taut muscle of her thighs tightened against his skull—he fed and fed, gorging on magic, feeding that yawning _need_ inside him while she writhed, infected with his magic so that she felt it again and again, her voice growing ragged and hoarse.

Somewhere in his head, in the part of him that was his father made over, he dimly realized that he losing himself to this magic he'd awakened. With an effort, he allowed himself to bite her hard, leaving the bloody, perfect half-moon imprint of his teeth on the uppermost, tender inner part of her thigh, and then he drew back.

"Liked that, did you?" he smugly inquired, standing up and pushing the chair away. He gave her a look ripe with hatred and snapped, "Pull your legs together, you whore."

She rolled onto her side, curling into a fetal position, glaring at him from the spill of her tangled hair. He saw something skitter across her eyes, something that was at once frightened and awed.

"What?" he demanded, suspicious. He shoved her hair out of her face, holding her roughly so that she craned her neck back to look at him. Again he asked, "What was that look for, mudblood?"

"You," she whispered, and averted her eyes as if the sight of him burned her.

"What about me?" he snapped, shaking her. "Tell me!"

"You…you're _glowing_," she said, and looked back at him with the familiar mixture of challenge and inner strength. "You're truly an incubus, Draco. I've never seen magic so concentrated—your skin is glowing, your eyes are glowing…it's practically dripping off of you."

Startled, he looked down at his own pale hand and saw what she meant. He wasn't exactly _glowing_, but there was a pearlescent shimmer to his skin as power shivered over it. Grinning with malicious glee, he gave a little tug to the fistful of hair he had, and lowly said, "Fancy that, Granger. At least that's _something_ for you, isn't it? Taking notes in that head of yours?"

She swallowed hard but said nothing, her eyes glittering in the rising moonlight.

"Now what?" he whispered, and managed to snare her with his eyes, smiling when her own rounded with growing fascination. "Shall we seal the deal, Granger? Shall I have you here on this very table where you study everyday, squealing like a piglet and begging for more? That aught to be fun, don't you think? Imagine how you'll feel come tomorrow, Granger, when you sit here with Chamber-Pot and the Weasel and remember what we've done."

"I won't," Hermione whispered, shaking her head a little in his grasp. "_I won't beg_. I hate you; you're a disgusting animal, Draco Malfoy."

"So I am," he murmured, smirking. "But that doesn't stop you from wanting what I'm doing to you, now does it?"

His other hand found the zip on her skirt and roughly pulled it, loosening the material over her hips. Aggravated, he jerked it down over her thighs and pulled it free, tossing it onto the ground with her robes, the remnants of her blouse, and that awful tie. He forced her around, unfolding her body, easily overcoming her sudden burst of resistance. He pushed her down once, again when she sat right back up, adding a slap as incentive to stay put, and undid his pants. That was as far as he would undress—it somehow made it that much worse for her, she being completely nude but for her socks and shoes, and he being almost completely dressed. This long process of humiliating her coupled with the sadistic pleasure of the rape to come had him more than ready to put the final crack in the glass of Hermione Granger.

"Are you afraid, Granger?" he asked, flicking his tongue over his teeth, one hand braced low on her belly as he moved between her legs with unconscious, predatory grace.

"Yes," she said, her voice thick with tears and resignation. She turned her head to one side and closed her eyes, shutting him out.

"_Open your eyes and look at me when I do this to you_!" Draco hissed, fingers digging into her belly with emphasis. "I want to see the pain in your eyes, Granger, because I _am_ going to hurt you. I'll be _sure_ to."

He leaned over her and lapped at her skin again, running his wet tongue up between her breasts.

"Remember, Granger," he whispered, looking up at her, poised over her body like a leopard crouched to spring. "I'm doing this because I'm better than you, so you'll always remember your place, mudblood."

He straightened, putting his weight down on his hand to pin her to the table. He put the entire force of his body behind the thrust that impaled her to the quick, gasping for breath as she screamed, her body pulling taut in both agony and pleasure, pouring into him with every ragged, ear-splitting shriek. She was tighter than he'd warranted, and grew even tighter as she clenched around him, her flesh frantically trying to accommodate for the sudden intrusion. And wet, so very, very wet, and it wasn't just her virgin's blood making her slippery, no—her pleasure assaulted his senses, and when she came violently before he'd even thrust thrice she very nearly brought him, too.

"Oh, _gods_," he moaned, fighting down the urge to bury himself ball-deep and just cum in her already. This entirely unexpected turn of events startled him, the throbbing pulse of his magic was terrifying and thrilling in its intensity, Hermione's abandoned reactions only feeding the hunger that pushed him higher, urged him to draw her hips tightly to him and get _deeper_, seeking more and more.

He rode her harder and harder, forgetting everything in this awful, demanding need. Her slender arms circled his neck, drawing him down on her, her wide brown eyes staring into his with wonder and a dark, deep, desire. He couldn't silence the low moans that came from his parted lips with every jarring thrust, couldn't keep from sliding one hand up under her to grasp her shoulder, the other gripping her hip. Her body rose under his in pulsing rhythm, her slender legs locking around his hips and her back arching.

"I hate you," she warbled, panting, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes. But she never flinched. Not Hermione Granger.

"I don't care," Draco hissed, and felt her go again, quivering and straining, another scream torn from her lips that nearly did him in once again. He was shoving into her so hard that the table was slowly edging forward under the force of it. "_Gods_, you're going to make me cum, Granger. Do you want me to?"

"Yes!" she cried, eyes wide, clutching him like he was a lifeline though she flushed with shame.

"Do you want me to cum inside of you?"

"Yes!"

Draco lapped at her throat, swallowing her sweat, swallowing that _magic_ that was riding them both now, circles within circles, a never-ending hunger. He whispered against her skin, "_Say_ it, mudblood."

"Cum inside me!" Hermione cried, sinking her nails into his back, feline in her wildness.

Draco smiled and cupped her cheek, staring down into her eyes, his own wide and cunning and dancing with cruel delight.

"_Beg_," he whispered.

Humiliated, dignity pushed aside, pride shattered at long last, Hermione Granger finally began to beg.


	8. Chapter 8

She begged him for more, she begged him for pain, for him to sink deep inside of her and cum. She begged him to do it again, to hurt her, to use her—she begged him for anything and everything, wanting only more of his touch, more of that heady power running over her flesh like warm fingers, more of that fierce delight he gave her with every touch, every nip of his sharp teeth, every brush of his sensitive fingers. More and more and more until she would be nothing _but_ pleasure, lost in it entirely. Begged him as he'd dreamed she would beg him, her words urgent and breathless, promising him anything he wanted if he would just give her what she asked.

He did, one hand pulling her hair to bare her slender throat to his teeth and hips straining as her body milked him dry. There's nothing pretty about a strong orgasm, muscles straining, sweat dripping, pulses pounding—they ended in a knot together, her slender body entwined around his lean one as they both climaxed, the power surging so strongly that it crackled between them.

Draco lay slumped atop her as the throbbing pleasure slowly faded, his hand relaxing his hold on her hair and his cheek pressed to hers.

"Kiss me, Draco," she whispered, running her fingers through his hair.

He lifted his head and looked at her.

She had the replete, exhausted look of a woman well satisfied. Her skin glowed with a pink flush, her brown eyes sparkled, the golden flecks swimming like jewels against them. She smiled at him, a true smile that made her suddenly very pretty.

He kissed her, his tongue gently probing the raw skin of her lips where he'd bitten her so fiercely earlier.

"Again," she murmured when he pulled back.

Draco almost did so, but stopped, his brows pulling together.

"What exactly is going on here, Granger?" he tightly asked, not at all liking her lazy smile.

"I told you that you didn't want to do this, Draco," Hermione said, brushing his hair back from his damp brow. "I tried to warn you…"

"What _are_ you talking about?" he demanded, lifting himself up on his hands to stare down at her.

"Did you even bother to research what you are?" she asked, and laughed a little. "Did your father not tell you?"

"You'd better tell me what you're talking about, Granger," Draco hissed.

"The first time an incubus uses his powers on a woman there can be side-effects," Hermione said, and for once managed not to sound like a total know-it-all. The way she kept stroking his cheek and throat was distracting to say the least, and he frowned, concentrating on her words. "The first time an incubus or succubus uses their powers during sex they can be accidentally love-struck by the person they use to bring their powers to fruition."

"So?" Draco shortly said, pinning her hand to keep her from touching him, momentarily sidetracked and not understanding why. Somewhere between the orgasm and now the situation had shifted, and he was not happy with it at _all_.

"Well, it's only in special cases," Hermione said, and with a smug smile he knew all too well, she added, "When their first victim is a _virgin_."

He went utterly still on top of her, his wide eyes slowly narrowing as a quiet, deadly rage reared its ugly head. He thought of her hesitation earlier in the evening, when she told him she knew he was an incubus. She'd been about to give him a very good reason why he shouldn't use her as he'd planned.

But she'd changed her mind.

"You let me do this to you," he lowly said, more angry with her than he'd ever been in his life.

"I figured it was worth the price," she softly said, and there was real affection in her for him, a result of being incubus-struck. "At least now I have some measure of control over you."

He was off of her before she'd even finished her sentence, angrily righting his clothes, too furious to even speak yet. His plan had backfired—oh, yes, he'd humiliated her, he'd broken her just like he'd wanted to, he'd had her at his beck and call like a whore, had her begging him just like he'd imagined. But she'd twisted it, this great victory of his, and had somehow come out the winner.

"It doesn't have to be a _bad_ thing, Draco," she said, scooting off of the table and quickly pulling on her skirt, and then the torn pieces of her blouse, watching him pace and work himself into a true temper. "You're an incubus—now that you've awakened your powers fully you'll either have to be bound to someone or you'll need someone to feed off of. With both of us struck by the other you might as well use me, and since your power has had me so well I even _want_ it now."

"Right, but the more I have you, the more struck you become, and the more struck _I_ become," he tightly said, pausing to watch her button what buttons remained and use the tie to hold the blouse marginally together. He was fascinated with her now and shouldn't be, tore his gaze away only with some difficulty.

"There's hardly any help for it," Hermione said, matter of fact. She spied her wand and retrieved it with a little exclamation of discovery.

"You did this on purpose, you _hateful bitch_!" he spat, as disbelieving as he was angry. More disbelieving because she was just going to _walk right out_ as if nothing had even happened, as poised now as she ever had been, if only a little disheveled. Only her slight flinching as her heavy robes came down on her back betrayed that anything truly degrading had happened to her.

"Of course I did," she said, matter-of-fact, straightening her robes. "If you'd done this to anyone else you might truly have made a mess of things. At least I knew what I was getting in to."

He stared at her, so angry he was trembling. But when she came to him and went up on her toes to press a kiss to his lips, he responded with a hunger that chased everything away. He was only dimly aware of her laughingly saying, "Not _now_, Draco, we've got classes in a few hours." When she pushed on his wrists he found he was clutching her tightly, and released her with an angry curse.

"Granger," he called, pausing her as she left. "Is there any way we can break it, this thing that's happened? Have you read anything in your books?"

"Perhaps," Hermione said, turning back to face him. She cocked her head and an impish smile curved her lips. "Why should I tell you? Now that you're as struck by me as I am by you, you can't order me about, so don't try."

Draco blushed and asked, "What do I have to do to get you to tell me, Granger?"

Her eyes sparkled with amusement and she licked her lips, making his pulse suddenly pound in his ears and he couldn't help thinking that he could have done far worse with far little result.

"Oh, I don't know, Draco, maybe…" she paused, considering, and then smirked and turned around.

Just as she walked away, she said over her shoulder, "_Beg_."

* * *

**Thank you, everyone--I hope you liked the ending, I know I did. That completes this story, time to think of another!**

**Purefoysgirl**


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